Sex, Lies & Serious Money

by Stuart Woods

  “That sounds ominous.”

  “You may think so. A few years ago I was working at a brokerage house, and I got mixed up in a transaction that went wrong. I took responsibility for my share of it and pled guilty to financial fraud. I did three years of a five-to-seven-year term. I was released in a program to reduce the prison population by paroling nonviolent, first-time offenders, and I was discharged from parole shortly thereafter. The whole episode was a major lapse in judgment and a moral failure on my part. Neither of those things is going to happen again.”

  “Does the Lauren organization know about that?”

  “Yes, I told them everything at my first interview, and they were very good about it. Now I’m a free man, very well employed, with a paid-for apartment and a good income. And my prospects are unlimited. I’m clean in every respect.” Well, he thought, in every respect but one: the cash from the raid on Laurence Hayward’s bank account, or, at least, what was left of it after Curly’s incursion.

  “Thank you for being frank with me,” Brooke said. “I would have been shocked if I’d found out about it by other means.”

  “I wouldn’t have wanted that. It’s why I told you.”

  “I admire you for doing so.”

  “Nothing to worry about in the future,” he said. “I’ll check with you before I rob any banks.”

  She laughed. “You’d better!”

  After lunch he walked her to her car, which was idling at the curb, and kissed her. “Dinner tomorrow night?”

  “Not tonight?”

  “There’s some unfinished business I have to take care of tonight.”

  “With a woman?”

  “There’s no woman with a claim on my time, except for my sister.”

  “You have a good relationship?”

  “We love each other—like sister and brother.”

  “I’ll make you dinner tomorrow night, then. Come at seven.”

  “I’ll look forward to it.” He put her into the back of the town car and waved her off, then went back to work.

  All afternoon he thought about his evening, how it had to go. He checked the movie schedules and made his plan based on that. He had to be very, very careful. His future looked bright, if he could pull this off. If he didn’t, well . . .

  That afternoon, he got two calls from Curly and ignored them both. He didn’t want to talk to him, and he erased all evidence of having received his calls. Curly would be there; he would want the money.

  Butch intended to see that he got what was coming to him.

  53

  STONE WAS AWAKENED by the bell on the dumbwaiter, which meant that Helene was sending up breakfast and the paper. Last night had degenerated into a drunken jam session, sharing the piano with Laurence, who played better than he did. He and Holly had not gotten to bed until nearly three AM, and they had not gone immediately to sleep, being otherwise occupied.

  He kissed Holly loudly on the ear. “Breakfast!”

  “Ow!” she howled. “Now I’m deaf.”

  “You don’t have to hear to eat.”

  He got up and brought the tray from the dumbwaiter to the bed. “Bacon and eggs!” he shouted, and that brought her fully conscious.

  She found her remote control and sat her bed up. “That was quite an evening,” she said.

  “It certainly was.”

  “You were very good on the piano and even better on me.”

  “You’re just sex-starved,” he said.

  “Right about that! Working late hours isn’t good for your love life.”

  “You haven’t forgotten how.”

  “It’s like roller skating or swimming—once you learn . . .”

  “I’m just a tiny bit hungover,” he said.

  “A tiny bit? Then you didn’t drink enough.”

  “That’s debatable, but I don’t think I’m fit to fly this morning. Tomorrow would be better.”

  “Fine by me. I’m at least as hungover as you are.”

  “Again, debatable, but we’ll get an early start tomorrow, and with the two-hour time difference, we’ll be there by early afternoon.”

  “I’m looking forward to being a jet-setter. Will you teach me to fly the thing?”

  “What sort of avionics do you have in your airplane?”

  “Garmin 1000.”

  “Then you’ll learn the 3000 easily. After that, you need only sixteen days of training to get your 525 type rating.”

  “Sixteen days? I could nearly achieve world peace in that time, and if I ever get that much time off again, I’m not going to spend it in a flight simulator.”

  “Then leave the flying to me. You can work the radios while I do the crossword.”

  “Deal.”

  After breakfast, they made love, then fell asleep again, until Joan buzzed.

  Stone picked up the phone. “What time is it?”

  “Ten-thirty. What’s your excuse for not being up?”

  “A late, liquid night. We’re not leaving for Santa Fe until tomorrow.”

  “Good. Ed Eagle has e-mailed you the closing documents for your new house. You can sign online and return them to him the same way. They’re waiting for you in your inbox.”

  “Got it. Now can I go back to sleep?”

  “You’ve got a stack of documents messengered over by Herbie Fisher, and you have to review them before you leave.”

  Stone groaned.

  “It’s your own fault, you should have left this morning before they arrived.”

  “Herbie would have just sent them to Santa Fe.”

  “I know. They’re waiting on your desk.”

  Stone struggled from bed and into a shower, leaving Holly to recover on her own.

  —

  HE SIGNED the closing documents for the house and returned them to Ed Eagle, then authorized the wire transfer of funds. After that he started on the work Herbie had sent. Joan buzzed: “Dino on one.”

  “Good morning,” he said.

  “You mean good afternoon, don’t you? It’s lunchtime.”

  “I overslept.”

  “Sleep is not all you had too much of last night. Everybody enjoyed the concert, especially with me on drums.”

  “Did I get drunk enough to admit to you that I bought a house in Santa Fe?”

  “You’re kidding! When do I get to go?”

  “How about tomorrow morning? Gala has moved back to Los Angeles, and I closed on her house a few minutes ago.”

  “Let me call Viv, and I’ll get back to you.” He hung up.

  Mike Freeman called and thanked him for the impromptu entertainment the evening before. “You both sounded great.”

  “Thanks, Mike. Listen, I closed on a house in Santa Fe this morning. Can you send somebody around to assess the security system and recommend any needed beefing up?”

  “Certainly.”

  Stone gave him the address and directions.

  “When will you be there?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon. Anytime after that. Tell them to call my cell number to let me know when they’re coming.”

  “Consider it done. Have a good trip.”

  “Oh, Mike, can you give Viv a few days off? I’d like the Bacchettis to come with us.”

  “Sure, she’s got it coming.”

  —

  TEN MINUTES LATER, Dino called back. “You’re on.”

  “Meet us at Jet Aviation at nine AM.”

  “We can do that.” He hung up.

  Stone called Jet Aviation, ordered fuel, and asked them to have the airplane on line at eight-thirty AM.

  Fred knocked on his door and was invited in.

  “Tell me about last night,” Stone said.

  “After I dropped you at the Fairleigh I came back here, and as I pulled into the garag
e I heard the alarm go off, then immediately stop. I figured somebody was tampering with it, so I came in here with my gun in my hand and the safety off. There was one guy in this room, and he immediately ran for the back door. I got a single round off, aiming low. I figured I would cripple him, but he kept going. Then I heard somebody running upstairs, and I went up there.”

  “And what did you find?”

  “I found him gone out the back way, too. I gave chase, but they were too far ahead of me. I saw them get into a gray van on Second Avenue, but they had a head start. I couldn’t see the number plate, but I’m sure there was a smallish woman driving.”

  “It was probably stolen.”

  “Probably. The cops came, and they were curious about what had occurred but didn’t give me a hard time. I figured the commissioner had already spoken to them. They did take my gun, so they could do ballistic tests on it.”

  Stone reached into a desk drawer, extracted his Colt Government .380, and handed it to Fred. “You can borrow this, until yours comes back.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “You handled yourself well, as always, shooting to wound.”

  “Things would have got a lot messier if I’d killed the bloke. Have the coppers ID’d him yet?”

  “One Irving Schwartz, ex-con. They missed him by ten minutes at the Lenox Hill ER.”

  “Did they get the bullet?”

  “Good question. I’ll ask.”

  “I take it you’re not leaving for Santa Fe today.”

  “Right, but we’d like to drive away at eight tomorrow morning.”

  “I’ll have the car ready. Any other passengers, besides Ms. Barker?”

  “No, the Bacchettis are coming, but the City of New York is providing them with transport.”

  “Righto. See you tomorrow, unless you need me tonight.”

  “I think we’ll dine in.”

  “I rehung the pictures in the living room,” he said.

  “Thank you.”

  Fred excused himself and left.

  54

  CURLY WAS WATCHING an old movie on TV when the house phone rang, and he picked it up.

  “Yeah?”

  “Curly, it’s Chico.” Chico was the building superintendent.

  “Yeah, Chico.”

  “You gave me a hundred to tell you if the cops visited.”

  “Yeah.”

  “They’re on the way up, two detectives.”

  Curly’s entire system went into flight mode. He grabbed a backpack containing his passport, some money, and a couple of extra false IDs, stuffed his laptop into it, opened a window, and stepped out onto the fire escape, being careful to close the window behind him. As he started up the stairs, he heard banging on his door and shouting. He ran faster. It was only two flights to the roof, and he was already there when he heard the window in his apartment open. A man shouted, “Nothing out here.”

  “Head for the roof,” another voice yelled, and Curly got a running start and made the eight-foot leap to the next building. He had already measured the distance during his planning for escape. He ducked behind the stairwell entrance to the next roof and pressed his body against the door. There was too much unobstructed distance to the next building to run for it without being seen.

  “Go on,” one of them shouted to the other, “go for it!”

  “Are you out of your fucking mind? I’m not going to get myself killed just to bag some burglar. You do it.”

  “Aw, come on, we’ll go next door and take the elevator.”

  Curly waited for a slow count of ten, then sprinted across the roof and jumped the parapet to the next building. He was three buildings down the street before he saw the two cops emerge onto the roof next to his own.

  There was more shouting that he couldn’t understand, then everything went quiet. He peeked from his hiding place and saw no one on any roof. He had to pick the lock on the structure housing the staircase, then he walked down to the top floor and took the elevator down. He took a cap and a scarf from his backpack to camouflage his closely cropped head (he had begun to grow his hair on Maria’s advice). He looked down the street and saw what appeared to be an unmarked police car turning the corner. He walked to the nearest subway and rode downtown to the Y, where he rented a room. Then he changed and went down to the weight room. He was surprised to find Irv there, watching others work out.

  “How you feeling, Irv?” Curly asked, sitting beside him on a bench.

  “Not up to working out,” Irv replied. “I can’t do that with a sore ass.”

  “They give you antibiotics to take?”

  “Yeah. They seem to be working, too.”

  “Remember to take them all. If you stop, the infection might come back.”

  “I got the news on that from the nurse in the ER.”

  “Good. I got rousted by a couple of detectives less than an hour ago.”

  “Well, you’re still walking around, so I guess they didn’t grab you.”

  “Only because I was ready, and the super warned me they were on the way up. That was a hundred well spent.”

  “Are you broke?”

  “I had some mad money in my bag. That’ll hold me for a while. I could use a score, though. You got anything on the back burner?”

  “Maybe. What can you put in up front?”

  “C’mon, Irv, I gave you fifteen Gs up front for the other job and another grand for the doctor.”

  “I have met my obligations on that job, and more, and I earned that money.”

  “I’m not saying you didn’t, it’s just that you’re well heeled at the moment, and I’m not. We can do a score together, and I’ll take the short side of a sixty-forty split.”

  “It’ll have to be seventy-five/twenty-five.”

  “Okay, okay, what’s the job?”

  “I know a pawnshop with a nonworking alarm system. It’s fat—all sorts of stuff, including guns, and there’s a safe I can likely crack, where he keeps his cash.”

  “Well, I could use a gun.”

  “I thought you were opposed to them.”

  “Most of the time, yeah, but I think somebody’s going to try to off me tonight.”

  “Well, I’m not packing heat, but I’ve got a snub-nosed .38 at home that I’ll sell you for a grand.”

  “A grand for a hot pistol?”

  “It’s cold as ice, never been used in a crime. I found it in a desk drawer on a job.”

  “I’ll give you five hundred out of my share of the take on our job.”

  “Oh, it’s ‘our’ job, is it? Don’t go getting any ideas about that. You’re the help on this one, just like I was on the last one.”

  “Okay, okay, but I need the piece tonight, and six rounds, too.”

  “Okay, if we can do the job tonight.”

  “I’ve got a late date. What time?”

  “Say, eleven. We’ll be through by midnight, if the safe gives. If not, you’ll have plenty of guns to choose from. You got a place to stay?”

  “Yeah, I’m okay on a bed. When and where do you want to meet?”

  “Pick me up at my place in a cab.”

  “You don’t have wheels for the getaway?”

  “I’m gonna take only what I can carry, in a duffel bag. I’ll have one for you, too.”

  “You’re gonna walk the street with hot goods?”

  “I reckon it’s better than driving a hot car.”

  “Maybe you’ve got a point.”

  “Okay, ten o’clock at my place?”

  “Sure.”

  “Ring the bell twice and wait under the stoop. Don’t get seen.”

  “Got it.”

  “It may take me a few minutes to get downstairs, so be patient.”

  “All right.”

  “And, Curly?”
<
br />   “Yeah?”

  “I’m gonna walk away from this one clean, and then I’m getting out of town. I’m not going back to my place.”

  “Okay.”

  “My point is, I’m not standing for a screwup on this job, and if you get in my way, or if you try to take something that’s mine, I’ll kill you. That’s straight up.”

  Curly took a deep breath. “Understood.” He got up and left the weight room and went upstairs and stretched out on the bed.

  He knew exactly how Irv felt, because he felt the same way.

  55

  BUTCH SPENT HIS DAY thinking about his night. So much so that a couple of his coworkers mentioned his absentmindedness. He tried to concentrate on his customers, and that worked, to an extent. He checked the movie schedules for a third time.

  For lunch, he ate a sandwich in the stockroom, still going over and over what he was going to do. He tried to think what could go wrong, but he was sure it would go right. The only thing to fear was the unexpected.

  He brought home some hot food for dinner and saw his next-door neighbor, a middle-aged woman called Nan, as he entered his apartment; that was good luck. He turned on the TV and made it pretty loud; she had complained about it before. He watched a TV program until six-thirty, then got out of the building without encountering anyone and took a cab to the movie theater on Sixty-sixth Street near Second Avenue. He bought a ticket for the seven PM showing, and concentrated as hard as he could on the film and its plot. It helped that it was one he had been looking forward to seeing.

  At the film’s finish he walked around the block, then got in line and bought a ticket for the nine PM showing. Then he had a magnificent stroke of good luck: he met a woman who worked at the store who was also in line and had a brief chat with her. He went into the theater and sneaked out as soon as the feature began.

  He got another cab home and waited across the street to be sure the lobby of his building was empty, then he went upstairs and let himself into his apartment. He undressed, put on pajamas and a robe, went next door and rang the bell.

  “Who is it?” Nan asked through the door.

  “It’s Butch from next door.”